


Han Not So Solo

by christalhearsawho



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Badass, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Han Solo - Freeform, I did so much research, Original Character(s), Rebellion, Romance, Slow Burn, Smuggler Han Solo, Star Wars - Freeform, Tatooine Slave Culture, force and destiny, idk - Freeform, maybe eventual smut, scruffy looking nerf herder, smuggler, this OC is from, tried to make this more adventurous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christalhearsawho/pseuds/christalhearsawho
Summary: Iliya Varkas is a headstrong Tatooine slave at Jabba's Palace. She's smart, resourceful, and observant. Han Solo has a good feeling about her. Will begin as just drabbles to flesh out at a later date cuz they both have extensive backstories and I really want them to get to know each other.





	Han Not So Solo

He always came with little to no credits. Just a half smirk and incredible sleight of hand, wonderful for throwing a game of sabacc against the naive patrons who played him, not yet knowing of his guileful ways. Jabba found it amusing and used the man as a sort of pawn to draw in challenging patrons who thought themselves sabacc masters. Not so. And she could tell the roguish man would never be subjugated to a simple pawn. He had a plan behind his raffish hazel eyes, she could see it as she approached his table to offer the players drinks.

 “Ah, Iliya, my darling, my favorite,” a familiar patron croaked. The furry man across from the hazel-eyed rogue winked with three of his eyes at Iliya, leaning to hold her by her gold trimmed fabric covered hips with his free arms as she took his order.

 “We’ll have a Jawa Juice, a Phattro, and throw in a Merenzane Gold for my friend Han here, my lovely.” He glanced away from her bare skin to meet his opponent’s gaze. “It is Han, isn’t it?”

 “Yeah, you won’t forget it after this game…um,” he paused, purposefully at a loss for words, furrowing his brow. “Ya know, I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

 “Bagney. Erderic Bagney!” he scowled.

 “That’s right. Eric. Now, Iliya, is it?” He looked up into her deep brown eyes, smirking gleefully. “Honey, why don’t you put all that on my tab. I’ve got a good feeling about this hand.”

 Iliya Varkas’ couldn’t help but smirk back, feeling that wanting this Han to beat Erderic was a mutual wish that they shared. She wished to see everyone in this palace humiliated as she was, and Han seemed to be making great headway on that. Iliya pulled away from Bagney’s slimy grip, headed to retrieve Han’s drinks, avoiding the prying gaze of Jabba’s customers as best she could. She had been at Jabba’s palace since she was fifteen, so for six years she had been at his and his patrons’ every beck and call; this also meant she had honed many observational skills over the years, little ways and wiles to get a higher tip, and a bit of insider information here and there from those who figured bragging to a mere slave girl had no consequences. In fact, she knew how to help Han swindle some extra credits from Elderic-by targeting his trade in the Spadja territory.

She returned quickly with the drinks, handing some to Bagney, but leaned over to Han just close enough to notice he smelled of musky, leathery neroli. Iliya blinked, caught off guard by the intimacy, and whispered, “Bet on his trade in Spadja, in favor of Jabba. It’s a weak spot.” Han gave no indication that he had heard her, other than a little uneven twitch in the corner of his mouth. Her heart was pounding. If he gave her up, Jabba would have her killed for trying to aid any competitors. Iliya ducked quickly away from the table, moving on to a furry Talz with arachnid-like eyes, not bothering to look back at Han’s sliver of neck peeking from above his vest.

Iliya made her rounds, attending to every creature’s needs, dirty cups, and unwarranted stares. Her heart rate had slowed, but only by a bit. A Klatoonian waved her over for a refill, his jowls wet with yellow liquid, eyes searching beyond her slave clothes. As she approached, he reached out to grip her wrist.

 “How much for an extra show, lovely?” he grumbled, intoxicated. Iliya pulled back gently, as to not make a scene, but the man did not let go.

 “I’m sorry, but there’s no touching here.” Iliya did her best to purr politely; she had dealt with many patrons of this sort before, and she was in no position to alert any security, much less Jabba himself.

 “Oh, Iliya, you know me, it’s Ostelf!” he let go, drool hanging from a corner of his mouth. She took quick steps back, thankful for the roar across the room that allowed her to escape. Iliya turned around, full pitcher still in hand, and briskly made her way towards the crowd around Han’s table, ignoring Olstef’s piteous pleas.

 “You-he cheated!” Bagney was furious, a sheen of sweat wetting his fur, creating a musk that would soon overtake the whole room.

 “You guys all saw me, right? I’m an honest man. I swear on that heavenly Jawa Juice.” The drink Han was referring to had spilled over onto the floor in Elderic’s rage. He held up his palms innocently.

 “Han solo! Mee stuka u've beaten elderic. On choy? Grounds?   _Han Solo! I see you've beaten Elderic. On what grounds?_ ” Jabba’s gravelly voice rang out in the tense silence. Iliya made herself busy, excusing herself past Han to clean up the spilled drinks.

 “Jabba! My friend! Well, actually, I happen to now be the proud owner of some trade territory in Spadja. It's pretty lucrative, I hear. A shame I won't be using it.”

 Elderic, still fuming, moved out of the way, not wanting to have anything more to do with Han. Iliya pulled another rag off of the table to scrub the floor, willing Jabba’s attention away from her. Han’s boots were inches from her face, and she couldn’t see past layers of grime.

 “In fact, I hear there’s about ten thousand credits worth of trade. Strange, that’s almost half of my debt…”

 “Hagwa tinka mee'm koona tah just excuse do full debt because u only moolee-rah half of it.   _Don't think I'm going to just excuse your full debt because you only paid half of it._ ”

 “Oh come on, I would never! Jabba, you know I’m a better man than that. What I _do_ think you’ll want to do is quarter my due...and free one of your slaves-of my choice, of course.” Iliya froze. Her eyes glided up Han’s torso to his face. He was smirking, but his eyes were hard, determined, and gave no indication that he even knew of her presence.

 “Da's ridiculous! Haba mee'll quarter do due, but han solo, do shag trader? U've never had an interest until ateema. Pray, tell je why? _That's ridiculous! Maybe I'll quarter your due, but Han Solo,_ _a slave trader? You've never had an interest until now. Pray, tell me why?”_

 “Hey, now I never said trader! I just wanted to give my waitress an extra good tip!”

 Now Ililya knew he was talking about her. Her heart skipped so many beats, her vision blurred. She had been working for Jabba forever; there was no way he would let her go! Or maybe he didn’t know how much she knew of his business. After all, she was  _merely_ a slave girl. She continued scrubbing an already-clean spot, scared to lift her face.

Jabba didn’t answer for a while, but the patrons were watching with rapt interest.

 “Mee'll clear fifteen luto um grant u do shag. But mee naga u unko next week, um mee expect even more of do trade bargon mo mee'll fofo da debt. Um u know kava mee feel about reclaiming myo slaves. _I'll clear fifteen percent and grant you a slave. But I want you here next week as well, and I expect even more of a trade deal or I'll double that debt. And you know how I feel about_ _reclaiming my slaves.”_

 “You’re a good man, Jabba! It’s a deal, and I’d shake on it, but-” Han gestured vaguely to the Hutt’s lumpy gelatinous form.

 Iliya worked up the courage to stand, retrieving her cleaning tray to return it to the bar, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her clothed shoulder.

 “Wait, kid. You’re coming with me, right?”

 Iliya’s eyes went wide. She didn’t dare look at Jabba, afraid he would change his mind, so she took a breath and met Han Solo’s gaze.

 “She's do good wompa, han. Take care of cheekta. _She’s a good one, Han Solo. Take care of her.”_

 “Ya know, I’ve got a feeling she can take care of herself.”

  
  


 

Her only civilian clothes consisted of a cut off green top, brick-colored loose pants that she could tuck into knee height boots in an incredibly off-palette brown. Although mismatched and motley, she couldn’t be filled with more glee than at the prospect that she never had to return to Jabba’s rank bar. Han had essentially bought her freedom for no reason. Surely he wanted something from her, and she wasn’t too sure she was willing to give what he would ask. Iliya jogged to catch up to the rugged man down the corridor, who was only a short distance behind a towering Wookie.

 “Listen, I’m more than thankful that you saved me, Han. But _why_? I’m not important. You don’t strike me as the sort of guy who gets mixed up in the slave trade-either way. So why did you just free me from Jabba?” He kept walking, not turning around. Iliya caught up, grabbing his bicep, whipping him around so they were nearly nose to nose.

 “I _asked_ , why did you save me, Han Solo?”

 Han’s warm hazel eyes softened the slightest bit as they searched Iliya’s walnut brown ones for the answer. His lips pressed into a straight line.

 “Cause I’ve got a good feeling about you, kid.”


End file.
